Taken
by SoporificCapsule
Summary: When her father's farm is ambushed by a band of brigands, Isabella is thrown into an unfortunate situation that leads to a series of events that changes her world forever. O/S A/H OOC


**A/N: OKAY, SO THIS TURNED OUT TO BE A BIGGER PROJECT THAN I FIRST ANTICIPATED. WRITING IN A PERIODICAL STYLE TAKES A CERTAIN KNACK; ONE I APPARENTLY DON'T HAVE. I'VE EDITED A FEW TIMES IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO ALTER WHAT I CAN TO AGE IT, BUT I'M PRETTY SURE I HAVE MANY FUTURISTIC NUANCES LITTERED THROUGHOUT AS WELL AS POORLY STRUCTURED SENTENCES. JUST DON'T BE TOO HARSH IN REVIEWS WITH IT, LOL. I'D ALSO LIKE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE POTENTIAL THIS STORY HAS TO BE EXPANDED TO A MINIMUM 300K INTRICATE TALE OF LUST AND DEBAUCHERY, BUT IF YOU HAVE READ MY PREVIOUS A/N'S, THEN YOU'D KNOW I LACK TIME OR PATIENCE WITH BIG FF PROJECTS, SO I MAKE THEM SMALL. NOW, I'D ALSO LIKE TO ADD; IF YOU LIKE ONE OF MY STORY LINES SO MUCH AND WISH TO SEE AN EXTENDED VERSION, THEN I OPENLY GIVE PERMISSION TO ALL, TO DO IT THEMSELVES. I'D LOVE TO READ AN EXTENDED VERSION OF ONE OF MY STORIES, JUST LET ME KNOW SO I CAN READ IT AND REFER READERS TO IT. ANYWAY, UNTIL NEXT SHORT STORY, I BID YOU ALL ADIEU**

 **TAKEN**

"How are you fairing over there Isabella?" Charles; her father, hollers from across the barren field.

"Same as I was five minutes ago papa. Now if you please, I'd much rather be working." She huffs with a small smile.

She loves that her father cares so much, but the constant coddling since her mother passed last winter makes her feel much like a babe.

"I am your father child, thus I am charged with the responsibility of ensuring you're always in the best of spirits and health." He defends, not looking up from his feet.

She shakes her head and continues to sift the barren field, aerating the soil. Spring is but three weeks nigh and timing is imperative to a prosperous crop. Though her father doesn't see any _real_ profit from the field, their landowner supplies them with their humble home, some stores and a basic wage, it is enough to get them by.

"Leave the women and children!" A barbaric voice hollers to the point where his voice break into almost incomprehensible tones.

It is just Charles and Isabella in their vicinity, but there are eleven other farms also managed by their landowner, close by.

The pair divert their attention to the interruption where they find a band of at least twenty brigands, all splitting up and charging in different directions. All but three.

Pure terror morphs on her face, a mere concerned crinkled brow on her fathers.

"My dearest Isabella, you mustn't let your quick wit or your scathing tongue jeopardise your safety, so please for the love of your mother, don't engage them." The urgency in her fathers tone is more than enough incentive for Isabella to still her tongue from lashing out at the incoming brutes. She jerkily nods her head in assent, not daring to disobey her beloved Papa.

"We'll do as you say, we don't want trouble." Her father says calmly to the oncoming force, dropping to his knees and facing his palms forward.

The barbarian that flanks the left, shoots forward on his chestnut steed and in one heinous act, draws a glimmering sword out from thin air and swings it in a harsh and uncaring act toward her father.

"No!" Her scream pierces through the empty fields, echoing back to her.

Her feet carry her forward without thought, her mind oddly noticing the soft texture of the soil beneath her feet. She dives on her fathers fallen body, tears soaking into his brown, sturdy jacket.

"Dad, you'll be well, I'm sure of it." But her words are barely audible to her own ears.

Her ear searches his chest for the thrum of life… but finds only silence.

"Come on girly." Thick, gritty arms wrap around her torso, jerking her from her Papa.

"No!" She screams and squirms and kicks, but to no avail, the monsters grip is too tight.

"Shut her up, will you."

Then, the world disappears.

Isabella cracks her eyes, a dark world awaiting. Small ribbons of sunlight provide enough light to see waterlogged stones make up her prison. She raises her head and inspects the four stone walls, rather confused. She expected to see bars on one side of her small cell… there isn't even a window to breathe in fresh air. She cranes her neck to inspect the roof, the only plausible option left, and finds heavy wooden beams making up the roof.

"There you go."

Gasping, she finally sees the figure hunched over in the corner. "Pardon?" For lack of a better reply.

"The roof; it is the only way in or out. Also impossible to reach, so don't even waste your efforts in a vague attempt at escape."

Looking at the great distance between herself and the roof, there is no doubt in her mind the mysterious man in the corner speaks the truth. "What is it sir, that you suggest I should be doing then?" He indignation present in her tone. She doesn't mean to be rude to the stranger, he just happens to be the only one around for her to vent her frustration and anger on.

"I suggest you come to terms with the fact that your situation is quite precarious." No emotion in the mans tone, just fact.

His words, however, trigger the memories of her fathers recent passing.

"Papa…. " Her voice cracks as she sinks further into the pit, sobbing quite hysterically.

So for an immeasurable time, she sobs, and cries and screams. Not just for the loss of her beloved father, but also her mothers life and possibly, her own. The bitter realisation that even if she survives her ordeal, she is without a father, a husband, family, or even a dowry and will likely be presumed soiled and deflowered… no one will want her.

Needless to say, she cries herself to sleep.

Her eyes open, once again to the moist stone of her prison, the thick, rotted beams still her makeshift roof. The man remains in his corner, still undefinable and shrouded in darkness and mystery. Isabella was of course hoping she had a nightmare, but not even her imagination could have conjured something this horrible.

Shuffling herself back into the opposite corner from the stranger, she squints into the darkness, trying to define his features.

"Are you so vain, that the thought of sharing a cell with someone you cannot view and judge, distraught you?" he asks.

She thought for a beat. "Your appearance means very little to me, I suppose."

"You _suppose_?" he mocks.

With a sigh, she elaborates. "Your appearance doesn't matter at all, I was more curious to read your face."

The stranger in the corner was silent for a while, Isabella feeling too awkward to speak again.

"My face won't tell you anything… nor my body language."

"I suppose such things can be schooled and deceived." She surmises, while truthful, mostly not is more so the case.

She wondered what circumstance brought him into their pit, but she felt as though such a question would feel crude on her tongue, so she refrained.

"How much time have you been in captivity?" This question also feels bitter, but it has already been spoken and can hardly be taken back.

"Longer than you," his reply neither too short nor enthusiastic.

"I have a nervous habit of filling awkward silences with useless banter." Her tongue continues to unleash her words onto the stranger, at least these ones educating.

"Yes," the dark figure agrees.

"My humblest apologies if my nervous habit infuriates you."

Silence stretches out for what feels like forever to Isabella, until he finally breaks it. "I don't mind… the silence is too loud."

She doesn't quite understand his sentiment and she daren't ask. "They killed my dearest father." She says, again, anything to fill the silence.

"They do that." She is nearly going to ask for specifics, but the stranger continues before she speaks. "Fathers, brothers, grandfathers… they don't care much. They keep women and children for bartering."

"So… " she isn't sure if she should point out the obvious, but her tongue chooses for her. "Why are you here then?"

"They too believe I am a bartering tool… I wish they would just do me the dignity of killing me already."

"I… " _don't know what to say or where to start,_ she finishes internally. "Why sir, are you telling me this?"

"Have you been to a graveyard?" She nods, who hasn't? "If I pointed to a random burial plot, would you know their name? Their story? What their accomplishments were?" He answers before she even thinks of retorting. "Of course not, it's just a chunk of stone with a rotting corpse decomposing six feet below its surface."

"You are correct, I wouldn't know either."

"If I were to say a name such as… Jane Austen, most would at least recognise her name, some even know her story."

"You wish to be remembered, not another stone in a never-ending ocean of stone." She states, feeling small, much like how he must be feeling.

"Now you get it."

"You do realise that I am more likely than you to die. Telling me is fruitless, and even if I do survive, what could I possibly do to share your story? I am no author… I don't even have a home any more." The weight of her words forcing her gaze to her feet.

"You still have a voice, that hasn't been taken from you. Look, you aren't my first choice, but I don't see anyone else here, do you? Besides, you really just need to tell my mother or my sister that I have passed on, they already know what to do. They know my wishes."

Perhaps it is Isabella that will need a herald in the event of her death, the bandits clearly want _him_ alive. She doesn't have much to tell though, she will be forgotten… as will her father and her mother. She is the only one to remember they existed, and that dignity will be taken from them upon her death.

"You should ask for writing material and write your mother, I can't help you." Isabella all but whispers.

The man remains silent for a while. "How about a mutual agreement? I tell you mine and you tell me yours. If we get out, I'll pass on your story and you simply inform my family of my passing."

"You seem awfully desperate to be remembered, why does it matter if your forgotten?"

"No one should ever be forgotten, it is an atrocity."

"While you are indeed correct sir, there is a great margin of people in the world, most of whom _will_ be forgotten."

"I just want to have made a difference in the world, to leave a mark. I don't think that is egotistical, everyone should try and make a positive difference in the world… a memorable one."

"Alright, I get your point, I've finished debating. You have yourself a deal."

"Ladies before gentlemen."

"You get off quite easy sir, I haven't done anything great with my life, I am merely a daughter of a farmer. My father and I were ploughing our fields, aerating the soil in preparation for spring when the bandits come and killed him. My mother passed on last winter, she just couldn't handle the cold. She offered my hand to the local clergyman three months before she died, but I refused. I know she was trying to ensure my security before she left us, but Mr. Newton and I simply aren't a match; even his face grates against every fibre of my being. My mother was the daughter of a gentleman, but was cut off when she decided to marry my father, a farmer; the son of a farmer. And that is all there is to me."

"What did you want for your future? A career, an accomplishment… a family?"

"I just want to be happy. I don't care if I have to scrub floors for fourteen hours a day, as long as I'm happy. Being truly happy _is_ an accomplishment."

He's thoughtful for a while. "Yes, it is." He agrees.

He makes no effort to start his story, nor does she push him. Isabella realises that his story could be just as painful to share, and with a stranger no less. So she continues to stare at her feet, chin resting on her knees, while she cuddles her legs, gaining as much warmth as her body will allow in the cold pit.

"I am the second son of the local lord, likely your landlord. These people were evicted from their farms six years ago for not producing crops, and now they want revenge on my father. They are trying to collect as much collateral as they can, but to my father, I am nothing but the spare. While my older brother remains safely in his manor, I will remain expendable."

Silence stretches on for an immeasurable time before he collects his thoughts once again.

"I retired from my station with the red coats some time ago, I no longer believe in the cause and I can't fight any longer for something I don't believe in. This of course disappointed my father, so he then too, much like your mother, tried to make a match with a daughter of a count… _Maria_. My hate for her can be defined by no words… and she was all too happy with the match. Much like you, I refused. I started a local business. On the outside, I am an investments agency for the low income earner, but what I really do differs; I help people. I have connections and strength, and I help those that no one else will. My sister is running it whilst I waste away here, continuing my work while I am in this… unfortunate situation."

"So… " she doesn't know if her words will sound rude, but she asks anyway. "If it is strength you bear, how did you get captured?"

"The strongest of men will fall against a great many odds. I don't want anything about my ordeal here mentioned, it is humiliating and degrading and not a part of who I am, nor my legacies. My sister and mother know my story, all you need to do is remind them of my wishes."

"If you don't make it out," she finishes for him.

"Even if I do," he adds cryptically.

Isabella's brow furrows, somewhat confused. "I wont need to."

"These people are very angry, and I am the closest thing they will get to revenge… they have turned me into the monster they believe my father to be. I can not return home."

Isabella gasps audibly, but stills her need to scramble over to the tortured man.

 _Bang!_

Their cell shudders with the impact of their roof moving. Two loaves of bread and a jug of water lower into the cell, but stops out of arms reach, then up-ends the plain meal onto the floor. The mysterious man makes no effort to claim a loaf or water. Isabella stretches out her limbs and raises herself, rubbing the numbness out of her buttocks. She picks up a loaf and devours it like the starving woman she is, then downs half of the jug of water. Picking up the remaining loaf, she approaches the broken man, offering the items to his shadow. He makes no effort to receive the item, so she leaves them by his side.

"You should eat."

But he doesn't reply.

She returns back to her corner, and sleeps away her fatigue.

She awakens to the moist cell for a third time, this time, she has truly exhausted her patience with it. She stretches out, then assumes her usual position in the corner.

"Are you awake?" She asks.

"I'm always awake."

"Always?"

"I've lost my ability to slumber."

"I am most sorry to hear that, I suppose it is a luxury I take for granted."

"Don't apologise for something out of your control," he deadpans.

"Sorry," a deep grunt escapes his throat.

"Right," she whispers finally.

Silence encroaches once again, awkwardness exudes from her being. She flicks through her mind, thinking of a subject to speak about to fill the silence… something not inappropriate.

"Do you have any regrets? I mean, just in case you don't make it out of here."

"Yes," he answers without pause. "I regret not putting more energy into finding a life partner… dying without knowing pure, passionate love leaves me feeling hollow." Silence for a beat, "what about you?"

"Yeah, that sounds nice. Finding someone to love unconditionally sounds like that happiness I was speaking of. Someone to care for… to care for me." Heat rises on her face, no doubt reddening it like a tomato. She digs her face into her legs so the stranger couldn't see her embarrassment. She would never speak to her mother about such things, why on Earth should she say such things to a stranger? And a man at that! How scandalous she feels.

"Wanting love is nothing to be ashamed of, and there is still hope for you yet. You are young and beautiful, you still have a chance."

"All is lost for me, I'm afraid." Her words come out muffled through her layers of dress, but she refuses to raise her head. "I will have no integrity once this ordeal is over, everyone knows what highwaymen do to women. No one will want me."

"If you need support, perhaps that pastor will still take you. You may not be happy, but you will have a home and we don't always get what we want out of life."

"I suppose you're right… I just feel as though I will be letting myself down if I do that; marriage should be a bond between two people that have utter devotion for each other, not some farce that keeps his bed warm at night."

"It is improbable a pastor of all people wishes to marry you, just to bed you, I have no doubt he truly loves and cherishes you," The stranger rationalises.

"No, I would rather remain homeless than to degrade myself in such a way. I have no respect for him, and I can not agree to such a ridiculous man."

"Your foolishness will land you in a very bad place, one your imagination wouldn't dare conjure."

"You're running on a presumption that I will make it out of here alive," she counters.

"Many people have died here, but I'm getting a good feeling about you, I'm sure you will make it out of here. Call it a hunch."

Another quiet moment settles over the pair, but this time it's comfortable. She re-runs over their conversation, really thinking hard about her future. A feeling of pure terror and dread settles deep in her bones and rattles her to her core, she has no doubt, that she will die. She can't come to terms with her oncoming death, no matter how much she tries, she has left too much life unfinished. She does want what the mysterious man wants… someone to love. Warmth spreads over body, fading the terror. The mere thought of loving someone is enough to settle her, imagining what true love can do when it comes to fruition.

Without prompt, her eyes find the silhouette in the corner, this time, piercing blue eyes gaze back into hers from the shadows.

"You said there is still hope for me yet… what about you? You are as likely to be freed as much as me, why don't you believe you have hope of finding the one?"

The eyes continued to pierce through hers, silence deafening her.

"Come here."

But she doesn't, her body freezes, worried she had somehow pushed him too far.

"My leg is broken, I can't move, can you please come here?" He repeats, not politely nor angrily... he just sounds hollow.

Her shoulders slump in relief, so she crawls over there, not really caring about the filth staining her dress. When she arrives within reach, a hand snaps out faster than her eyes can catch, and grabs her chin.

"I have no hope because any woman worth having would find me repulsive."

His face inches forward out of his shadows and into one of the ribbons of light. Scars cover every part of his exposed skin. His face, his arms, his chest… all covered with knife cuts, burns and other types of scars that are undefinable to Isabella. But she makes no move to jerk away, she doesn't even gasp in surprise, she just explores his mapped skin with keen interest and a reddened face.

"You are beautiful," she makes a point of saying.

A sneer forms on his scarred lips, then he pushes her away, but he remains silent.

She scrambles over to her corner, fearing she has pushed his boundaries too far.

It isn't until she wakes for the fourth time that he speaks to her again. "What is your name?"

"I will only disclose it to you if you promise to reveal to me yours straight afterward."

He is silent for a while, contemplating her counter-offer. "Actually, I like not knowing your name… it gives you an air of mystery."

"Yeah, well, I think you are mysterious enough as it is." A small chuckle resonates from where he sits. "How about ages?" she counter-offers.

"I can do that," he agrees. "I am but six-and-twenty. Now you."

"I am not twenty. So tell me, how did you break your leg?"

"When I awoke for the first time in this pit, my leg had already been broken, presumably during my state of unconsciousness beforehand, I don't know how it happened."

"Oh!" She cries. "How horrible that must've been. I am now very thankful I awoke with nary a scratch on me." He doesn't comment further, so like before the pair are swallowed in silence again. She fills the space with whatever she could think of to say. "I meant what I said before, you _are_ beautiful." She regrets speaking instantly and she knows she over-stepped her boundaries once again. She doesn't however, regret the words, she feels a need to ensure he knows he isn't the monster he is making himself out to be.

"Please don't patronise me," he retorts in a stilted tone.

Isabella squeezes her legs tighter, hoping for more warmth than her many layers of sodden dress is offering, at least she has more clothes on than the mysterious man. "Aren't you cold, you have far less than me on, and I'm freezing to death."

He is silent for a while before he responds. "I am running a fever, infection has set in, so no; I'm not cold." He is silent for a beat. "I know it is improper, but if you don't find me as repulsive as you say, I am willing to share my excessive body heat… if you are comfortable with the close proximity with me, that is."

She doesn't need to be asked twice. Isabella knows it is inappropriate for her to be so close to a man, but she figures her reputation is in tatters regardless of her activities… or lack thereof. She scrambles to his side and presses herself against his muscled form, his body heat instantly warming her flesh. She takes this opportunity to continue her previous perusal of him, since her last look was cut short. She first looks at his hair, noticing it is actually blonde beneath the layers of dirt that has camouflaged it's golden hue. It is a longer cut, a matted plait snakes down to his shoulders. She also notices a chunk of his right ear has been severed off, roughly at that, right near the tip as well as a couple slices through his lobe.

"You're staring makes me uncomfortable," he deadpans, while looking straight ahead.

"It shouldn't. I admire your strength and courage. A lesser man would have crumbled."

"How do you know I haven't?"

"I have seen a broken man in my father; after my mother died. You have a will to live… he did not, he was broken."

"You're right, I _do_ want to live. But here, I have no courage, nor strength."

"Courage and strength are both adjectives I would use to describe you." He stares silently ahead, not acknowledging or rebuking. "I do not wish this pit to be my tomb, I want to live," she whispers, pained.

He diverts his gaze to peruse her pained face. "I wish I could guarantee you life, but these men are volatile. I can't."

"I don't expect you to… it's just… I've done nothing with my life. I have no experiences, no travels, my only fond memories are of my parents… I have wasted the time that was given to me… and now it's gone." She resists the urge to break out in tears again, she had already done that, she doesn't want to do it again.

He doesn't comfort her or feed her positive reinforcement… he doesn't lie to her. From what he can tell, she is right; she has done very little with her life and has a right to mourn a life wasted.

"What's your name?" She whispers, pleading his eyes with hers.

"What's yours?" he counters.

"Isabella."

"It suits you well, for you are very beautiful… mine is Jasper." His blue eyes never leaving her brown.

Then… she does something she never thought she would do to anyone. Ever. She closes the small distance between their faces, and kisses his scarred lips. They are smooth and soft, albeit bumpy under hers.

And perfect.

He responds with vigour, his lips parting and sucking her lower lip. His tongue sweeps out and caresses her lips with such passion, Isabella gasps with the full emotion the simple gesture incites. His tongue starts caressing her now exposed tongue and she returns the gesture with as much passion and vigour.

Jasper breaks from her mouth and moves to her earlobe. "Are you certain?" His heady breath pricking her hair up.

"More than anything," she replies, breathless.

The pair make quick work of their clothes, helping each other as quickly as possible. The build up becomes too much for them to stand any longer.

Broken leg forgotten, Jasper lies Isabella on the bed of clothes while caressing her smooth, untainted skin. "This will hurt… at first." He whispers into her flesh. She only absently nods in assent, the moment overpowering her senses.

Their lips lock again and their bodies flush, smooth against rough, existed against lived, cold against hot.

"Please," she begs, though she knows not what for.

He aligns himself, and she herself for that earth-shattering moment.

"Do it," she begs, and he does. She yelps, half pleasured, half pained. Her pain subsides quickly, her adrenaline pushing it to the far recesses of her cerebrum.

It is the first time since being in the pit, that something has felt warm to him, and such great pleasure it is. He grunts while he seeks his pleasure, while trying to give Isabella hers.

His methodical ministrations are that of a professional, though he is as virginal as the woman he beds. He too saved himself for someone special.

"Oh god!" Isabella moans. Her eyes fly open and eat through Jasper's, straight to his soul. The words are on her lips but her internal bomb is about to explode.

"Let it go… Isabella." He stammers through an awkward sentence, and she obeys. With a cry that could be heard from Paris, the woman beneath him shudders while she incites his own. His speed increases to a jerky, untamed rhythm while his cry mimics that of the woman's beneath.

Both empty, but fulfilled, they remain interlocked while they both sleep.

"Isabella, we need to get you dressed, something is happening."

Isabella opens her eyes to the sight of Jasper fastening his breeches. A sudden panic pushes her into action and she is dressed into her many layers in record time.

The beams that make up their roof shift one at a time, slow and methodical. Once there is enough roof removed to fit a person, a head pops over the hole against the bright sun.

"There is two in this one," the unknown figure hollers.

A rope ladder soon follows.

"Ladies first," Jasper says with a wave of his arm.

Isabella struggles to place her feet on the small boards of wood, her dress keeps getting in her way. Longer than it should take, she steps up into the world with the helping hand of a stranger.

Bodies litter the ground around, as do many holes in the ground, similar to the one Jasper and her shared.

"Are you all right miss? do you need a doctor or something?" A man in a red coat asks jovially.

"No, but the man behind me does, he has a broken leg and an infection."

"Right away miss." Again in a cheery tone, then moves on to help the injured man behind her.

Jasper exits into the world, a set of crutches ready to help him walk. The whole crowd of people around them are quick to recognise him, and the swarm of people trample past her, just to get to him.

Head down, she starts her long journey back to her farm, just for a lack of places to go. If their homestead still stands, she hopes she will be able to plant the seed her father had recently purchased and harvest the field herself… all is not lost. As long as she can produce her crop, she will get an income. Plus no one ever comes around, so her lonely existence won't be discovered. She will be fine… she has to be.

It only takes her half a day to return to her family's farm, a much shorter trek than she expected, thankfully. She doesn't have much more energy left in her system, she is even surprised she made it home, or what is left of it anyway. The raiders burnt her house, and everything inside. The farming shed, however remains mostly in tact. There are scorch marks where they tried to burn it down, but thankfully unsuccessful. Before entering the barn, she picks through the debris of her house, picking up whatever is still useful. It is mostly kitchenware she finds, and also three of her dresses that were thankfully drying on outside lines, survived. She took her loot to the barn and made a small fire with a remaining flame that was still eating away at her house. She will have to work tiresomely to keep the fire going for heating and cooking… at least winter is almost over.

And so Isabella works from sun up to sun down, sowing her fields with her fathers seed while living off the eggs her four chickens provide. As predicted, no one comes by, and no one knows she is at the farm alone. Sure, she has ventured into the local town to trade some of her left over eggs, and none bother to ask how she is, or where her father is… they just don't seem to care. Not that it matters to her, she will hardly tell them of her predicament; she knows what will happen to her, and it is not very nice to even think about. She also walks past a certain investment agency, never daring to venture forth inside. If Jasper had wanted to pursue the rapport she so deeply felt, he would have found her by now.

Her trips to town will be coming to an end however… for an unprecedented chink has shown itself in her proverbial chain; she is expanding… in her stomach. She hadn't really noticed anything until she couldn't do one of her smaller fitting dresses up at all. If she had any hope of keeping her integrity, it was now gone with the growing of a human inside of her.

She of course sobs for days. She doesn't care if she eats very little, but she couldn't make an innocent child live like that. If her father was still alive, he could challenge Jasper to a duel and try and force his hand into marriage… but he is not… and he won't.

She is alone.

Harvest season comes and Isabella hopes for a speedy resolution to her problems. She doubts very little the landlord actually cared if their home burnt down or not, but with the offering of a bountiful harvest, she might be able to convince her landlord to build her a new home… as long as all conversations about her deceased father remain silent and unspoken, she is sure she can get away with it.

Tiresomely, she harvests her fields and bundles the fruits of her labour ready for pick up, just as she has done for the last nine years, except this time she is alone and it takes her weeks instead of one. The promise of a better meal with the small income she will receive is enough to keep her going.

Fitted with her loosest dress and her bulkiest cloak, she walks to the stewards residence to report her crop is ready for pick up. She knocks on the door, but it is not who she expected to answer.

"Oh!" She gasps. "I'm sorry, I was looking for Mr Banner, the steward." The man peruses her with a critical eye, the green of them shining like emeralds.

"Mr. Banner was killed in the raids, I have taken over. What is this about?" Isabella is somewhat relieved that there is a new man in charge, it means he didn't know her father personally and likely wont ask much about him.

"Oh, well, you see we have finished harvest and our crops are ready for pick up."

His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead comically. "Really? How is that possible? I was under the assumption all our farmers were killed."

"Er," she stammers. "Um, no. But… but they did burn our house down, we've had to make do in the barn. Is it possible to get a new house built." She asks shakily and meekly.

"And who is _we_?"

"My father and I… my mother died last year."

"I'll approve your request since your farm is the only one to produce a crop, I'll be around tomorrow to meet your father and collect the produce. What was your name again?"

"Isabella Swan, sir."

"Well Miss Swan, I'll see you and your father tomorrow."

Isabella walks away from the old stewards house cursing herself under her breath; how on Earth is she going to get away with this? She can't just bring people back from the dead. She will just have to lie about it.

The night flew too fast and the morn even faster. The new steward showed up before he was due with three carts in tow. "Very impressive Miss Swan, especially when compared to your neighbours"

"You speak so casually of the dead sir, one might think you heartless."

"Be that as it may Miss Swan, business is business. Now, I'd like to meet your father."

"About that, my apologies sir, but in my state of shock from hearing of Mr. Banner's death, I forgot to inform you that my father has escorted my sister to town. She will be staying with my aunt there; she is being introduced into town."

"The daughter of a farmer in polite society?" The new steward chuckles degradingly.

"We may be mere farmers in your eyes sir, but my mother is the daughter of a gentleman, which makes us privvy to such entitlements."

"And which gentleman is that?"

"Not quite important sir, now your produced awaits."

She then walks away, red staining her cheeks from the lies that come out too fluently for Isabella's liking.

"You vex me Miss Swan," the new steward retorts from behind her. "Oh, and Miss Swan, builders will be here tomorrow to start building your new house.

She exhales in relief, a weight lifted off her shoulders. "Oh, excuse me, sir." She almost forgot.

"Edward Cullen." He corrects.

The name sparks her memory, but her brain can't trigger a specific reason. "Mr. Cullen, I almost forgot to collect my father's income."

"If it's all the same to you Miss Swan, I'd rather give it to him personally."

"Of course," she smiles as much as her falling face will allow.

She walks into her barn, and cries, for that is all she seems to be able to do these days.

"Miss Swan." Her eyes fly open and she is on her feet faster than ever before. "Miss Swan." The voice belongs to , so she smoothes her clothes out and dusts them off. Lucky she fell to sleep in them the night before, she would have no time to get dressed if she hadn't.

"Yes Mr. Cullen." She says as she exits her now-temporary home.

"You have me most intrigued, so I took the liberty of asking around about your family. Can you explain to me why no one has ever heard of a sister and everyone is under the assumption your father was killed in the raids? He even has a grave beside your mother there."

"Really!" Her voice perfectly astonished. "How strange." It's is the only reply she is capable of voicing until her brain catches up with the current scenario.

"So? What do you have to say for yourself?" One bronze-coloured eyebrow shooting up.

"Papa will find this hilarious when he gets back, I can't wait to tell him. Perhaps he'll even lay flowers down on his own grave, I can't wait to see it." She feels really awful, lying about her father in such a horrid way, but he would understand its necessity.

"And when was he due back again?"

"This week, he hasn't wrote me yet, but I'll ensure he heads straight over your way to meet you."

"You do that. The work men are just outside starting your house, it will be completed in no time."

"You have my thanks Mr. Cullen."

Well, she has managed to lie herself out of a sticky situation once again, but she can't risk a third chance. She needs to act.

Still dressed in her larger-fitting dress and heavy cloak, she walks to town. She should be preparing the soil for a second harvest, but it is simply too risky to not act. Swallowing her pride and her courage, she walks to her local investment agency.

The door is glass with gold gilding bordering the wooden frame, her desperate reflection looking back at her. She opens the door, a bell signalling her arrival. A very large, tall and stout fellow, mans the main desk, but no sight of Jasper's sister. With a puppy-ish smile, he greets.

"Hi there, are you interested in investing today."

"Umm… " she stammers. "Actually, I need help. I can also help some people in the process."

"Well, perhaps your local pastor can help you with that, we invest here." He replies jovially.

"That isn't exactly the type of help I need at the moment."

"Okay," the man says, but otherwise remains quiet.

"I can offer accommodation, food and work for an older man and a young woman."

"And what is it you want in return for such a strange request?"

"They just need to pretend to be my sister and my father."

"That is the oddest request I have ever heard, but you happen to be in luck. A wanderer recently come into town with just the clothes on his back. I'll put forth the proposition to him, we'll see if he agrees. Where are you located?"

"At Mayfield, it's a small farm-"

"I know where it is, that is part of the Lord Cullen's farms. I'm guessing it's the one between Aprilfield and Junefield?" She nods her assent.

"I'll be in touch."

"I hate to bite the hand that feeds me, but could you please put a rush on it, the steward expects to meet my father by the end of this week."

"Will do Miss… "

"Swan."

"Miss Swan. And good luck with the baby."

Her face flushes bright red, so she scampers away as fast as she can before anyone else notices she is with child.

Her arms burn as she repeats the same motion over and over again in her field. It has been two days since she went to the investment office, two days of hoping. The workmen continue to show up and rebuild, so she continues to wear her heavier clothes. The men haven't paid her any heed, and she hopes they won't. Any attention is completely unwanted.

There is only one man she wants attention from, and the hopes of that happening faded with the months that have ticked by since their coupling. She truly thought they had made an unbreakable connection… she thought Jasper was better than this.

She wipes her eyes with her forearm, then continues the back-breaking labour.

"You shouldn't be doing that in your condition." The smiley man from the investment agency scolds her.

"Oh, Mr. -"

"Posh! None of that Mr. stuff, call me Emmett."

"Emmett, if I don't do it, then I don't get a house or get to eat."

"You're right, I'm sorry. Just seeing a pregnant woman toiling in the dirt goes against the grain, so to speak. Anyway, Miss Swan, let me introduce you to your father, Mr. Swan."

A clean-shaven man steps out from behind Emmett, bowing in greeting. "I appreciate your offer Miss Swan, it gives me a second chance at a new life."

"Oh my god, he agreed. Thank you so much for this, you have no idea how much I appreciate you being here. I will be homeless without the help. Any luck finding me a sister?"

"None as yet, but give it time."

"Well, we have time with finding her, I told the steward she is at town with my aunt," Isabella explains.

"Good, good. Well, I'll let you two talk and work out the finer details of your arrangement, I'll be back tomorrow to check on your progress."

Emmett walks away and leaves the two to chat.

"So, what's your story?"

"My name is Marcus. I found the love of my life in a widow with a diabolical son, Aro. On her death bed, in her delirium, he got her to sign everything over to him, including all of _my_ assets, properties and holdings. I have nothing left, but it matters little, I don't have her anymore."

"I'm sorry for your loss. My mother died last year, my father a couple of months ago in the local raids, with no other family to speak of, I have no other options. You are literally saving me from becoming a maidservant… I don't wish to cater to a spoilt woman's every wish."

"I understand, and did that happen during the raids?" He asks, waving to her stomach.

Her face stains itself bright red and she merely nods. "It's okay, but I think you should remain out of public eye from now on, it is almost too noticeable."

"I only need to make one last public appearance… introducing you to the steward."

"Yes, please tell me about myself."

"Your name is Charles Swan. You married my mother, the daughter of a gentleman for love, and love each other they did. My mother lost everything upon their coupling, not that they cared. She passed away last year, the cold was too much for her to bear. You currently have a grave with my actual father in it placed beside my mother, I had to laugh it off as some kind of joke. Your father was a farmer, as was his, and his before. It is a lineage you are proud of, despite its lowly opinion amongst the people. The thing about a sister was a lie, a slip of the tongue and I have not mentioned a name for her… that is all I can think of at the moment."

"Great, I should warn you though, I know very little of farming."

She chuckles. "That is fine, papa taught me everything he knew."

"Great, so what is first?" her new papa asks.

"Well Papa, we need to go to the steward so he can pay you for the crop we just harvested."

"You harvested a whole crop by yourself? I am all astonishment." Disbelief very predominate in his tone.

"Yes, and the steward will only pay my papa for the work."

"How conniving… how do you know I won't just take off with the money?"

"I'm sure you wouldn't have said that just now, if you were going to."

"Well, I won't, I promise. The work will be hard, but I am tired of all of the politics involved in society, the serenity of the land will soothe my soul. I truly am grateful to you-"

"Isabella," she chuckles.

"Much better for me to call you by that than Miss Swan."

The pair walk directly to the stewards home, again knocking on the door. A manservant answers the door this time, and directs them into a den for them to wait in.

"If he has placed us here, I fear we will be talking quite a bit."

"I might be able to fake an injury, perhaps a headache… a weak constitution."

"Any of those should work," her papa agrees.

"Miss and the elusive Mr. Swan. I am Edward Cullen, your new steward."

"Mr. Banner's replacement," Isabella adds.

"Yes," Mr. Cullen eyes her suspiciously.

"Who else's could he be Isabella?" Her new father jokes and Isabella chuckles in agreeance. "Now Mr. Cullen, I believe you have a wage for me to collect."

"Of course," he fishes through some draws and fills out a slip of paper, as well as money. "Fifty percent in bank note, fifty percent in cash." Mr. Cullen hands the pile of items over to Charles, a suspicious gaze still darting between the pair.

"And how is your daughter liking town Mr. Swan?"

"Please, call me Charles, and I haven't heard from her yet… no doubt too busy with shopping to pen a simple note to her poor old papa."

"Huh," Cullen responds noncommittally. "And how are the fields going? When do you expect another crop?"

Isabella mentally slapped herself for not informing her new papa of such things, how could she be so foolish.

"We are sowing the fields now, so quite a while yet."

Isabella's shoulders slump in relief, thank goodness he was paying heed to what she was doing when they arrived.

"Got a date for that?" Mr. Cullen's eyebrows shoot up in expectation.

"Oh goodness no. Between the finicky nature of living things and goodness knows how much rainfall we can expect, could be any time, if at all."

A small smile graces Isabella's lips, it was a good enough non-answer to fool anyone.

"I see. Well, I'll let you be off then, I might call on you to check the progress of the new house. And you should have come to me sooner when it was burnt down in the raids."

"Didn't want to be a nuisance Mr. Cullen. Besides, Mr. Banner was never very forthcoming with any help we required."

 _Good one,_ she thought internally, there is no way he could check now, everyone was dead.

"Really? I never got that from him… at all." Mr. Cullen replies firmly.

"I guess you just had to be on the other end of the stick to see it." Marcus lies smoothly, he seems a little _too_ good at lying to Isabella; she will be keeping her eye on him closely.

"Well, we best be off, work to be done."

"Yes, I'll walk you out."

Mr. Cullen escorts the pair of liars to the door and opens it for them.

"I will call on you tomorrow, Charles was it."

'Charles' nods and escorts his daughter back to their farm, arm-in-arm.

"He is totally on to us," Isabella observes.

"No, he just doesn't buy what we're selling, he is likely to continue to pry, at least until he finds something better to do with his time."

"Well, I'll teach you all I know tonight and in the morning, it should stay fresh in your memory long enough for his inquisition."

"Sounds like a plan, but we'll continue to sow the fields until sundown, no use wasting the rest of the sunlight."

The pair work the field until dark where upon they retire to Isabella's makeshift house.

"Sorry, my brain seems to be absent these days, I didn't even think to make you up a bed, my humblest apologies for my careless oversight."

"Posh, even without some straw to sleep on, it is still an improvement to where I _was_ sleeping. I am humbly grateful for a roof."

"Well, we will have an actual house soon, my patience is starting to wane, I miss stability. Your presence greatly improves my chances at a happy life, and for that I am grateful."

"So, I know I have only been here for a couple hours, but I _am_ your father," he chuckles. "I wanted to know what your plans are for the babe? _Have_ you made any plans for it?"

She sigh's heavily. Isabella has wanted to discuss this subject with someone, and it seems Marcus is the only one she _can_ tell. "I haven't a clue. I love it, but there is no way I can provide a future for it, nor a cover story for its existence. How could I possibly keep a child I can't provide for? Am I that selfish?" She knows the answers to her own questions already; yes she could and yes she is. She had hardly any material things growing up, but she had love and that was enough to get her through the hard times.

"The decision is yours. Just don't let anyone talk you into anything you don't want to do."

"Who would? There is now only two other people who know about it, and you're one of them."

"Just saying is all."

"Ah, Mr. and Miss Swan," a jovial voice greets the pair toiling in the field of dirt.

"Emmett," they greet in unison.

"How goes it? Settling in?"

"Yes, thank you Emmett. The sleep was warm and the work keeps my mind busy, I am finally content."

"Jolly good to hear, old boy. Now Isabella, may I have a word?"

"Of course," she replies, not missing the pointed look from her new papa.

Isabella follows behind Emmett whom leads her to a fallen log she used to read upon during her spare time in her infancy and younger teenage years. She misses the pastime. She shakes off the memory and focuses on her present.

"First things first, are you two getting along?"

"Yes, we are. He seems to be a perfect fit, he isn't irritating, he seems honest enough and he is a quick learner. All in all, he is great."

"Wonderful; music to my ears. Now, I come here for another reason as well. Firstly, I would like you to know, I am the first son of a wealthy landowner near Bath. I am to inherit his estate when he passes, but I also own quite a large parcel of land close by, purchased from my own hard-earned money, not my inheritance. My wife is the only daughter of your landlord, and is as savvy and well off as I. We have been married for six years now and we are unable to… have a baby. I understand your predicament, and I don't want to hassle or bully you into anything, but I want you to consider us as an option if you wish to put your child up for adoption. I'm sorry if I have offended you, I just want you to know you have options. You will of course see the child as often as you like, even take a position as its wet nurse if that is what you choose, just please… don't dismiss us. We have a lot of love to give… fate just hasn't granted us the gift of children… just think about it."

Isabella couldn't speak… she is without words… speechless… mute.

She isn't offended in the slightest, more dumbfounded. While she has selfish thoughts… this is her babies natural family that is asking for her baby. It should have been apart of their lives naturally… and now it can be.

She walks back to the field and toils mercilessly all day, contemplating.

She hasn't dismissed Emmett's offer, nor has she dismissed keeping the babe. It is the only evidence left of her time with the man she feels so deeply for. Loves even. The thought is equally painful as it is happy.

Emmett waited three weeks and four days to return and check on the pair.

"How goes it?"

"The house in nigh completion, Mr. Cullen has only come around three times to 'check on our progress', we now have decent food to eat, not just eggs and we both have some new clothes… clothes that fit." Charlie replies jovially.

"Smashing news man, just smashing. And how are you going Isabella?"

"Great thank you Emmett, much better than I was going a month ago."

"Capital, capital, and I come bearing more. I found you a sister."

"Great, who is she?" Marcus asks first.

"She is a runaway, for understandable reasons before you ask. All she asks is a home and a dowry so she has a chance for a suitable match. I have put forth two-thousand pounds before you ask, which is more than enough for her to marry well, given her situation in life."

"And her name?" Isabella asks impatiently.

"Jessica."

"So, when can she come?" She asks again.

"First, we need to make sure she is a good fit, your personalities may clash, so I'll call on you tomorrow with her accompanying me."

"Splendid, just splendid."

"May I have a word in private Isabella?"

"Of course."

"First, I'd just like to apologise if I offended you last time we spoke, I only mean to help… both of us."

"No, please don't apologise, you meant well… and well… I was actually thinking about that option anyway. Before I agree to anything, I wish to meet her… your wife, I mean."

"Can we call on you this afternoon? I know it's soon, but well… I cannot express how much this will mean to us. It will be beyond words."

"You both are welcome here."

Needless to say, the day dragged on tiresomely, but her guests arrive nonetheless. Her papa remains in the fields, giving his daughter the space she needs; she will inform him of everything that has transpired later on tonight.

"Isabella, may I introduce you to my wife, Rosalie. Rosalie, this is Isabella."

The first thing that struck Isabella, is Jasper's eyes, sitting in the face of an angel. Emotion rang through them, glistening them like winking sapphires.

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Swan," she curtsies as gracefully as an angel too.

"Umm… " Isabella stammers, feeling humbled in her mere presence. "I'd just like to ask you some questions, Emmett has already told me about himself, I'd just like to know more about you."

"Sure," her smile serene. "My father owns this land, and I assure you I am nothing like him or my eldest brother, Edward; your steward. I am more like my mother, well, I at least hope I am."

"Umm… " she stammers more. "Don't you have another brother too?" She pushes.

"He sadly passed away months ago… an unbearable loss. He is… _was_ actually my twin. What else can I tell you?"

But she only focused on Rosalie's first sentence… he has died. "Umm… " She doesn't even know what to say… but ice seeps into her bones and shatters her heart. The bundle in her womb just become that much more precious to her.

These are the people carrying on Jasper's cherished work, people he held dear, who held him dear. People who love him, who he loves… _loved_.

"I want you to have him, her, whatever it is. It belongs with you both, it can have a life, one I can never give it."

Rosalie starts sobbing, Emmett cradling her shuddering form. She will tell them who the father is… one day. She fears if she tells them now, that they will take everything from her. They will have every right to, but until the baby comes, the pain of his loss subsides and her new sister has a marriage offer, she will hold her tongue. She will expect nothing less than exile when they find out.

She is pulled into their embrace, their warmth filled with gratitude… but she hardly deserves it, the baby is rightfully theirs anyway. No use prolonging the inevitable.

Jessica fit into the family, but her immaturity that came with her age showed. She wouldn't work, and when she did it was sloppily. She flirted tirelessly with every single man in the town, and sadly made a bad reputation for herself. She has, however caught the eye of someone far more patient than she could ever be, and a perfect match in her eyes. From what their father told Isabella, the clergyman, Mr. Newton couldn't take his eye off her, nor hers off him… but that could be said about many men.

They didn't have to wait long for an offer, he called on Mr. Swan a mere seven weeks after their initial acquaintance, and upon his offer, Jessica gleefully accepted, much to the pleasure of her father and sister. They vowed to visit each other frequently… after the baby was born of course, and Isabella was genuinely saddened that she missed their wedding, but life goes on, and she received a full descriptive retelling from the bride herself.

Shortly thereafter, came her baby. Rosalie and the infamous mother that she and Jasper take after were there to deliver the bundle of joy. It was a boy and much to the surprise of Isabella, was named after his father; Jasper. He was born with smoky-blue eyes, that eventually morphed into living replica's of his adoptive mother's… and his biological father's. Many actually complimented Emmett and Rosalie on how much their baby boy looked like them, still, she held her tongue. She couldn't guarantee her father's situation if she told Emmett and Rosalie, so she will still her tongue, he may be left homeless because of her actions too.

He of course encouraged her to only tell them when and if she is comfortable with it. She wasn't, but she needed to. It will ease her conscience and soothe her guilt. They have every right to know and it is unfair of her to keep that information to herself.

With shaking hands, she knocks and a mere moment passes before Rosalie's lady opens the door.

"Miss Swan, come to call on Mrs. McCarty."

"And Mr. McCarty please." Her voice quivers with her nerves.

"Right this way miss," she requests with a curtsey.

She leads Isabella to the main sitting room, the one she is most familiar with. Thumbs twiddling, she waits.

"Isabella, what a pleasant surprise, what brings you here this fine morn." Rosalie addresses her, Emmett by her side, but no sign of baby Jasper.

Isabella raises herself from her seat and curtsied. "Umm… " she balks. "I'm here to tell you both something."

"Okay, what is it?" Emmett asks with eager anticipation.

"How about I start from the beginning?" The husband and wife seat themselves opposite Isabella, nodding once comfortable. "Okay… so a few months ago, my father and I were aerating our fields, preparing them for our spring crops. Then, some highwaymen came…. They killed my papa, and took me. I was knocked out, but when I woke up, I was in a gaol… a pit in the ground. Anyway, there was a man in there with me. The… " she swallows the thick lump in her throat. "The first thing the man told me, was to come to terms with the possibility of not making it out of there… to make peace." She remained silent for a while… the married couple doing the same, but with horrified interest. "Well, we continued to talk more, I don't even know how long I was down there for… a much shorter time than him, that's for sure. Anyway, the man… he… he was wonderful. I felt a very special connection with him… I feel just as strongly now as I did then. You can probably guess… that is how baby Jasper came to be. I thought I was going to die, and doing _that_ out of wedlock is something I never would have done, but… I love him… _loved_ him and I was certain I would die."

"He died?" Emmett asks.

"Yes."

"So, who is he?" Emmett again.

She inhales deeply, steeling her nerves. Looking into Rosalie's eyes. "Your brother; Jasper."

Rosalie's mouth gapes open, her hand quivering close to it. "His eyes… _my_ eyes. Oh my goodness."

"This is a lot to process," Emmett says, eyeing his wife disconcertingly. "Perhaps you should… " he trails off.

"Leave," Isabella finishes for him. "Yes, I believe I should. I'm sorry I haven't told you sooner. Pain and shame stilled my tongue." Gaze fixated on her feet, she leaves.

It takes two tortuous days for her baby's parents to show up, Isabella worrying the two whole days straight. She hears their approach and awaits behind her shut entry door. They don't even have a chance to knock when they approach, Isabella flinging the door open upon their arrival.

Isabella curtsied. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes please," Emmett answers.

She leads them into the sitting room of her new home, them seating themselves.

"We are disappointed that we were not informed earlier about this, but little can be done about that now. While it is important information to us, we understand it mustn't have been easy for you either."

Isabella remains silent, waiting for their ire to hit her, full force.

"Would like you to call on us tonight for supper," Rosalie asks, tone soft and polite.

"Err… thank you ma'am, that will be most joyous. You have my thanks." Isabella replies politely, albeit dumbfounded.

"You seem to be expecting us to have a different reaction." Rosalie points out.

"Well, you both are well within your right to be most upset with me… I have not deserved your niceties, what I have done is horrible."

"You are young, alone and scared, we will not fault you for that."

"You have my deepest thanks for your understanding. What time would you like my presence?"

"How about five o'clock?" Emmett suggests, Isabella nods in assent. "We'll see you then."

The pair see themselves out to their carriage, leaving Isabella in their wake, somewhat confused.

Dressed in one of her nicer frocks, she is delivered to the McCarty's manor via a carriage they had arranged for her. Considering the circumstances, Isabella is quite confused by their behaviour. She is then escorted from the carriage door, right into their entry hall where Rosalie awaits her arrival. "I am so pleased you came."

"You're most welcome. But I must say, I am quite confused."

"Our relationship is clearly fate and I cannot dismiss the woman whom has single-handedly given me the greatest gift of all, a beautiful son. I could never hate you, for you have gifted me with my dream. Now come, please."

Rosalie tugs her along by the arm, and into the sitting room she sat frightened a mere two days prior. But she doesn't even reach the seating area… she only makes it to the door. Her feet freeze, her heart races and her mind clouds with disbelief.

Baby Jasper… cradled by his namesake. A sob tears from her throat. She doesn't know what emotion caused it, she is feeling a myriad all at once.

"Isabella," Jasper greets with a nod and a smile.

Without rational thought, only feeling, she spins on her heel and tears out the house, fat, hot tears running down her cheeks.

She runs, and runs without destination or cause. Her mind can't absorb what has just happened, or even why. How can a man she has pined away for, been heartbroken by, then eventually mourned, for over a year, be standing and breathing, nursing a child of their creation.

"Isabella!" His voice hollers from somewhere behind her. She scrambles to the base of a large tree and huddles up, not daring to reply. She only hopes her light coloured garments doesn't give her away. She isn't afraid of him, she just needs time to think and process.

"I'm sorry, I never should have run away… I didn't know."

She pushes her eye sockets into her knees, willing him to over look her.

"You deserved much better treatment… please, I didn't know!" He continues, this time closer.

Her breathing remains shallow and her eyes start hurting from the pressure, but she can't stop, it's an outlet that isn't sobbing hysterically.

"I know what I did was unforgivable, and I won't ask you to." His voice coming from directly in front of her; he obviously found her. "If I had known… " he trails off, not seeming to know how to finish.

"I have to make amends Isabella, Emmett explained what you have been through, and I can't apologise enough. You never should've had to go through that alone. Please say something… anything."

"I forgive you… but you need to go."

"Okay. I'll leave, but I'm coming around tomorrow." She heard his footsteps retreat, then nothing, and she made no effort to move.

Tomorrow came too quick and her mind still reeled. She simply couldn't wash away her hurt. She obviously knew she wasn't good enough for the son of a lord, but she never thought he would fake his own death to shirk any responsibilities that came with that title. She obviously knows he is sensitive about his scars, but giving justification to such superficiality really saddens her; he should know better, he is wise beyond his years after all.

At least she is more prepared to see him again, though she will never really be ready for the hurt that comes with just a thought, let alone his presence.

The door was knocked upon and her father answers, letting their guest in. Jasper passes the unaccounted for man with a strange look, which he then shares with Isabella.

"Sir," the new Charles greets.

"Sir," Jasper responds.

Charles lets himself out the door, leaving the two inside alone.

"Who is that?" a hint of jealousy in his tone.

"My dad," she answers with little emotion.

"I thought your-"

"He did, Emmett arranged a replacement."

"Oh." He seats himself opposite her, intently staring in her eyes. "I wasn't here for you, but I am now and I'm not going anywhere."

"And if I don't want you here?"

"I'm not leaving, even if you wish it. I was a fool, too… ashamed." His eyes drop, fixated on a small vase of daisies. "I know I should have at least checked on you before I left, but I never thought in a million years that you would come to bear a child."

"So even if you checked on me, you still would've left?" she clarifies.

"Yes, you deserve that happiness you seek. I can't give that to you."

"You know very little of my happiness Jasper, and I will decide what makes me happy, not you."

"I can't be what you need."

"I don't need you to be anything, you have made your position very clear, now leave."

"I hope you find your happiness Isabella."

"I already have. I hope you find peace with yourself Jasper. It's not your clothes, or the style of which your hair is coiffed, or even the skin you wear that makes you who you are, it is your soul. Your scars are superficial, but beautiful nonetheless."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" she asks.

"Make out as if I'm not a monster! It's patronising and degrading. I know what I am, as does the world. Stop living in your fairytale Isabella and wake up to reality."

He then storms out, a retort ready on Isabella's tongue, but with no one to hear it.

"You are the white knight, not the monster."

"I'm sorry for your loss, he seemed like a good man." Mr. Cullen, the steward offers as society dictates. However, there is no emotion in the sentiment to ring his statement true.

"He was, thank you." She deadpans, not really caring if her indifference to his empty platitudes comes across as rude.

"Now, I know this might not be the best time to do this, it has only been a few days, but business is business."

"I'm listening," Isabella, emotionless.

"Well, with your father gone and no husband to speak of, I am going to have to ask you to vacate the premises. I need to move in some more men that can actually farm the fields."

White-hot rage rips through her being. "Mr. Cullen, I am more than capable of harvesting the fields as efficiently as a man, I beg you, just give me a chance."

"You?" he chuckles amused. "You're just a woman… what does a woman know about farming."

"Please, I beg you Mr. Cullen, give me a chance. I've no where to go."

"While I am sympathetic to your distress, I must repeat; business is business. Now, new tenants will be moving in in three days, be sure to have vacated the premises by then."

 _Damn Marcus for dying! How could he?_

Mr. Cullen mounts his steed and rides off with a self-satisfied smirk firmly set in place.

"That odious man!" she huffs angrily.

With her pride unable to ask Emmett and Rosalie for help, her options race through her mind, hoping for a solution, and only one comes to mind.

With a heavy sigh, she starts packing.

xXx

He walks the dirt track to the farm dedicated to the month of May. His soul is settled, as is his ire and anger. He is a new man. It took some harsh, but truthful words from a beautiful woman to work out his woes, and he made the effort to get past his problems. For her, but more importantly for himself. He can stand to look in the mirror again, not care for the horrified looks from children or the diverting gazes from women.

A new man.

He knocks on the door, confidence even present in the wood.

An elderly woman answers the door, his presence and appearance seeming to unfazed her entirely. "Yes?"

"Uh…" he stammers, a little shocked by her presence here. "May I call on Isabella please?"

"Is that the lass that used to live here?" her voice quivers with age.

"Used to live here? Well where is she now?" he demands.

"I don't know son," her voice quivering more so now.

He marches away from the farm and makes a beeline for the stewards house. All niceties aside, he smashes the door once with his fist and lets himself in, bypassing the staff that mann the entry.

"Edward!" He hollers, his full ire present in the bark.

His brother rounds a corner and freezes when he identifies his guest. "Jasper… how…what?"

"Where is Isabella?"

"Who?" He murmurs absently. "I was told you were dead… it so good to see you, but… what has transpired?"

"Edward! Where is Isabella?!" He repeats forcefully between his teeth.

"Miss Swan?" Jasper jerks his head to confirm. "I didn't follow up on her whereabouts, but she has been gone for weeks now."

"Why?" Again through gritted teeth.

"Her father died and could no longer maintain the farm work, so I evicted her." Seeing the murderous look on his brothers face, he adds. "It's just business brother, we aren't a boarding house."

"I'll deal with you later."

He leaves his brothers house in much the same fashion as Isabella's old farmhouse. He went around to Edward's stables and took one of his steeds, not even bothering to gear it up. His next destination; his sisters.

They seem to have preempted his arrival, for they await him out the front.

"Where is Isabella?" he asks, not bothering to to remove himself from his mount.

"Why, what ever do you mean?"

"Edward evicted her weeks ago, and now I don't know where she is."

"He what!" Rosalie seethes through her teeth.

"Why wouldn't she come to us for help?" Emmett, looking crestfallen.

"Why did he do that?" she asks.

"Her fake father died."

"Why wouldn't she come to us?" Emmett dumbfounded.

"So you have no idea where she could have gone?" Jasper clarifies.

"No… no clue." Emmett answers.

xXx

"You really haven't done this before, have you?"

"No miss," Isabella responds automatically.

"Well, you need to pull the cord tighter, as tight as you can." Her new lady instructs.

"Yes miss." She pulls the cords to point where they would almost break the woman's ribs, and fastens them in place.

"You may resume your kitchen duties now."

"Thank you miss," she responds as she should with a curtsy.

She wanders back to the kitchen to finish cleaning the breakfast dishes, much a preferable option than helping some shallow wolf into her lambswool. She shouldn't think so lowly of her employers, the ones that provide her with food and a bed, but to see how fixated the women are with what's new out of Paris and how the men fixate with out-doing their so-called friends in the most ridiculous of ways, well… farm life doesn't seem so low-class anymore.

The idle task of scrubbing pans makes her mind wander. She hated it when she arrived three months ago, but now her memories aren't painful, they are fond. She has known happiness, and cherishes the feelings and memories that come with it. If her time was up today, she could not regret her mistakes, nor could she regret her decisions. Fate may not have dealt her a lifetime of happiness, but she has felt the purity and warmth of it. In her new position, she has witnessed marriages that are based on connections alone, not love or desire, not even tolerance. She may be scrubbing food remnants, but she still has more than some people. For that at least, she is grateful.

"Miss Swan?" The head maid- whose name evades Isabella's memory frequently- addresses.

"Yes?"

"You have a visitor, I directed him to the winter sitting room, keep him out of sight from the Miss and Mrs. Jones'."

"Thank you."

She dries her hands on her apron, manoeuvring the servants corridors while she does so. She hasn't ever been in the winter sitting room, but she knows where it is located.

She walks throughout the undersized door and into an empty room.

"Huh." No one present. She spins on her heel and re-enters the skinny passage.

"Isabella?" A familiar, albeit unwelcome voice. She closes the door behind her and starts back toward the kitchen.

The door behind opens, a heated hand spinning her on her heel. It is of course Jasper, compacting himself in an uncomfortable angle to fit in the narrowed and short passage with her.

"You're a hard woman to find."

"That was the point. Next time I'll use an alias."

His face falls, "I was hoping there won't be a next time."

"Why are you here Jasper?" She asks, though not really wanting to know the answer.

"I have missed you… so much." She doesn't comment, or even blink for that matter. "You were right, about everything, and I'm sorry. I can't apologise enough, and I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me… not that I deserve it."

"I forgave you long ago Jasper."

He smiles small and hopeful, but she doesn't dare to feel… not yet. "And you were right, of course. You are wise beyond your years Isabella."

"About what, exactly," she pushes when he doesn't elaborate.

"I wasn't at peace with myself, and I was angry… at everything. But now, I am content."

"You should be happy then, not just content. You have the whole world at your feet with no obligations, you _are_ dead after all."

"There is only one thing that makes me happy Isabella, and it isn't anything my family's money can buy."

She remains stoic and silent, waiting.

"I need _you_ Isabella. Do I dare to dream that a fool like me could ever possess the love of a beautiful creature like yourself?"

She freezes, not moving, just processing. Her brain processes his words, but isn't sure if their placement has been interpreted correctly. "Uh… " she mumbles dumbly.

The monosyllable though, enough for Jasper. He closes the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a fluid motion.

And so, as happy stories dictate, everyone gets their happily ever after.

Well… almost everyone.

Rosalie and Emmett became parents, the smiles never leaving their faces.

Isabella and Jasper moved to a farm of their own, where they went on to raise three children of their own.

Jessica and Michael never had children, Jessica feared it would ruin her much-envied physique.

Edward, though having a plethora of women at his side, never married or had any legitimate children. After succumbing to syphilis, the Cullen fortune fell to the spare.

And the elusive Lord Cullen, well… let's just say that some angry tenants finally caught up with him.

 **THE END**


End file.
